A grip caught Kira’s wrists, a grip that was effortlessly tight and totally unyielding. It pulled up, not down, jamming shoulders and catching all her joints in the wrong direction.
“I really don’t like bad news. Especially when you don’t get the chance to say, I’ll take the good news first.”
He put his mouth down next to Kira’s cheek and took a slow breath in through his nose, feeling for her power, and smelling some of that young teenager girl scent that seemed to linger around girls like grocery store shampoo.
Stiles smelled like boy, deodorant, and burnt oxygen. His voice was soft and his body was fever-warm through the Beacon Hills jersey and the gray corduroy jeans. "You know, when they say, ‘hey, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news, which one do you want first.’” He pulled up on her arms, just to make sure she was listening, holding one of her shoulders to keep his grip. “You didn’t do that. And I don’t even know you, but I can tell you’re a bad news sort of girl.”
He gave Scott a level look over Kira’s shoulder, and then tipped his head back and forth, like he was disappointed. His eyes were old-bruise yellow in their sockets, and his eyes were like black marble. “You’re going to believe her? Oh, I get it.” He pressed his lips together, like Stiles always did when he was annoyed with his best friend. “It’s because she said the A-word. Man, Scott.” He let out a long sigh. “Allison again. This is not a healthy obsession.”